


Giant Robots and Cute Boys

by Choke-a-Bro (Vanya_Deyja)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AU, M/M, Pre-Slash, Vignette, giant robots vs giant monsters, neon genesis evangelion inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:23:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22830142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanya_Deyja/pseuds/Choke-a-Bro
Summary: Prompto gets to be a pilot! He's thrilled for all of three seconds.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 11
Kudos: 76





	Giant Robots and Cute Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Like Inuyasha I also watched a lot of Neon Genesis Evangelion, Zoids, etc. Giant robot stuff is the shit. And, yes, 8000 words is a little long for a vignette but....eeeeehhhh??

Prompto knows he’s adopted but he thinks of his adoptive parents as his parents even if they make it hard sometimes. His parents don’t think he should’ve applied for the program. Even if the Lucian government sent testers to every high school in the country for the Kingsglaive Program that doesn’t mean its Prompto’s patriotic duty or anything. Prompto knows that. He knows he didn’t have to apply but he wanted to. He wanted, just for once, to be special.

He wasn’t expecting to perform well on the test. He was expecting his attempt to end up in some shredding bin somewhere in Insomnia. But Prompto did test well, surprisingly well, and next thing he knows the Kingsglaive operatives are getting his parents permission to take him to Insomnia for further testing.

It takes several weeks shuttered up in a hotel. He gets a temporary security clearance to enter the Citadel and everything. They run him through a battery of inspections and tests, they run background checks, and Prompto keeps expecting to be let go but every day they progress him further and further through the intake process. Eventually he’s meeting the head scientist in charge of the Kingsglaive Program, Mister Scientia, and frankly feeling overwhelmed.

“Has anyone explained today’s objective to you, Prompto?” Mister Scientia asks in the elevator down to the cages.

“No Sir,” Prompto admits. “I figure its another intake test though?”

“Prompto, this is _the_ test.” Mister Scientia answers, flipping through his clipboard. “We’re going to put you in a plug suit and throw you in Unit 2. If you synchronise that’s it; you’re in. You’re officially a Kingslgaive pilot.”

“R-really…?” Prompto chokes.

“Indeed,” Mister Scientia seems unconcerned. It probably doesn’t matter to him if Prompto succeeds or not.

“But there are other candidates, aren’t there?”

“No one else has progressed this far,” Mister Scientia reveals. “This is your show today, Prompto. Let’s see how you do, yes?”

Prompto swallows.

He’s always thought Kingsglaive pilots were incredibly cool and, maybe, in the back of his mind he hoped he’d get this far but…. This doesn’t feel real. Things like this don’t happen to Prompto. Prompto’s a nobody. He wanted to try out, just to say he had, he never imagined what he would do if he actually succeeded. Does he want to fight demons? Massive, behemoth, demons? Cityplaugers? He feels like he’s shaking and he almost drops the plug suit when Mister Scientia’s assistant shoves it into his hands and directs him to the changing room.

The mechs are huge. Prompto’s seen them on the news since they were released two years ago after the second Cityplauger attack. But this is the first time he’s ever seen one up close and, today, he’s actually going to get inside the entry plug. The mech, Unit 2, is strapped into the cage but its imposing and sleek and Prompto immediately wants to throw up. He did not think this through.

“Now Prompto,” Mister Scientia calls on the radio, “we’re going to flood the entry plug. Try to breathe deeply. While your lungs fill with umbilical fluid it will be uncomfortable but you’ll adjust.”

Prompto swallows. His plug suit is basically white, accented with blue and gold, and it feels like a second skin. He wasn’t even allowed to wear any underwear with it. It’s much fancier than the dummy suits he did his testing in, genuinely expensive, and he can almost feel the micro sensors tapping into his nerve endings. There are some baseline feeds running in the entry plug but Unit 2 isn’t active yet. Which means its dark as the entry plug fills will fluid. Prompto’s practised this too, most people panic during this part, and it is kind of awful but its also really cool to be breathing fluid. It takes a minute, some self talk, but eventually he’s breathing comfortably.

“Doing good, Prompto.” Mister Scientia applauds mildly.

“It’s warmer than the test fluid they used in the trials,” Prompto remarks, surprised and relieved.

“Yes, the umbilical fluid in Unit 2 is decidedly more comfortable.” Mister Scientia agrees. “Prompto we’re going to commence activation of Unit 2 shortly. It’s going to ask you to input a few verbal commands. Please focus. If those baselines coordinate we’ll move to the synchronisation drills. Understood?”

“Yes Sir,” Prompto steadies himself.

He’s never been in an actual mech. What does synchronisation feel like exactly? Will he know if its working?

Prompto feels the machine purr to life slowly, booting up, feeds flashing to life. Finally he can see what Unit 2 sees; the cage, the command centre across the divide… Prompto flexes his fingers around the controls. He feels like he’s tingling. Like there’s something at the edge of his consciousness. Like a numb limb is sizzling slowly back to life as sensation returns.

Prompto is asked to enter his full name and his security clearance. He’s asked to repeat a few command prompts for the voice recognition. Unit 2 is getting to know him and there doesn’t seem to be any problems. He can feel something tapping at his brain waves, half there, like he’s dreaming of white noise and that feeling of returning sensation is getting stronger and stronger.

“Very good Prompto,” Mister Scientia chimes in again levelly, he sounds very serious all of a sudden. “Unit 2 has accepted your profile. Only moderate noise in the synapse filter. You should have clearer sensation now. Can you try moving the Unit’s fingers for me?”

Prompto flexes his fingers around the controls and the strangest thing happens. He can feel himself gripping the controls but he can also feel Unit 2’s giant metal fingers moving too. He is aware of the motion. It’s super strange but he kind of likes it. It’s cool.

“Prompto, tilt the head for me.”

Prompto turns his own head and feels Unit 2 jerk with him, camera shifting. It doesn’t seem like much but Mister Scientia is very quiet on the radio. Prompto is left alone for so long in the silence he starts to flex himself. The head moves with little prompting, he can curl the fingers in the other hand… The cage restrains much greater motion but testing the foot pedals Prompto feels the toes of Unit 2 lift up and come down gently.

“We’re going to deactivate now Prompto,” Mister Scientia announces suddenly, “I’ll talk you through that.”

“Oh,” Prompto startles, “sorry. I didn’t mean to—Are we done already? Did I do okay?”

“You did just fine,” Mister Scientia assures in that same level tone, “we’re just going to get you out now. I’ll tell you more in a moment. Bear with me.”

There’s a knot in Prompto’s stomach the whole time he’s exiting the entry plug. Will he ever be back? Did he screw up? He shouldn’t have moved without being told to. He just knows it. He’s so messed up. He doesn’t want to fight giant monsters, not really, but he does want to do well. He wants to be special.

Hair wet, still in the plug suit, Prompto exits onto the gangway and is met with Mister Scientia.

“Follow me please,” Mister Scientia instructs. Prompto wants to ask a million questions.

“Should I get changed--?”

“You can come like that,” Mister Scientia beckons, “follow along.”

They cross half the complex, Prompto still in the plug suit, Mister Scientia flipping through his papers before they make it to an office that reads _OPERATIONS COMMANDER_. Prompto gulps almost audibly and Mister Scientia forces his way into the room dragging Prompto behind him.

The man behind the desk doesn’t look up and Prompto is half glad. He’s young, handsome, like Mister Scientia but he’s built like an officer; all rippling muscles and huge broad shoulders.

“You should knock Ignis,” the man grunts.

“No time,” Mister Scientia maintains without skipping a beat. “Gladiolus, meet Prompto Argentum. Prompto meet Gladiolus Amicitia the operations commander here at Kingsglaive. Prompto just completed his final intake drills.”

“So you stuck him in Unit 2,” Mister Amicitia concludes. “How’d that go?”

“Forty-five percent.”

Mister Amicitia pauses. As he looks up from his computer there’s a kind of reluctance in his expression that Prompto can’t immediately read. He’s thinking very hard and, all of a sudden, he’s giving Prompto a very thorough once over.

“Noctis can do that unconscious.” Mister Amicitia posits.

“Need I remind you Ravus barely managed six percent.” Mister Scientia counters. “It is by far the most promising result we’ve had in twelve months. I would recommend immediate conscription.”

“He pass psyche evals?”

“He’s passed all the evaluations.”

“Hmm…” Mister Amictia sighs heavily. “Doesn’t look too sturdy. Put him up against a Cityplauger and I suspect we’ve got a screamer on our hands.”

“We don’t have any other options.” Mister Scientia places one hand very pointedly on his hip.

“Fine, fine,” Mister Amictia waves dismissively, turning back to his computer with another heaving sigh. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Don’t be late,” Mister Scientia tuts, turning back around and grasping Prompto’s arm to direct them both back into the hallway.

Prompto’s a little mystified but he thinks he understands.

“Does that mean…?”

“Congratulations, Prompto, you’re officially a Kingsglaive pilot.” Mister Scientia announces.

Prompto is sure he’s going to pass out.

“Administration will give you your permanent security passes and IDs after you get changed. We’ll collect your things from the hotel tonight and move you into the residences. I would ask you don’t call your parents till we return you topside this evening.”

Prompto chokes on his words, fumbling them out of his mouth all grated and mangled. He’s a pilot? Officially…?

* * *

Prompto throws up in the change rooms. The rest of the day is a blur. He is shuffled from one department to another. They take his blood, his fingerprints, his photo, his urine. They did this all during his testing but apparently now they’re officially doing it. It’s exhausting and confusing and Prompto is overwhelmed. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to fail. He’s a failure, that’s what he does.

In the evening he’s shuffled to Mister Scientia’s office again. The older man is stripping off his lab coat and changing over his glasses and Prompto suspects he must be going home for the day. He feels sheepish in his casual clothes. Maybe the plug suit was better in retrospect. He looks at his feet, unsure what to say, people have just been telling him things all day. He has a whole booklet of procedures to read in his arms and he can’t imagine what’s happening next.

“We’ll go pick up your things from the hotel.” Mister Scientia explains. “Then I’ll take you to the residences. It’s a bit crowded in the Citadel these days. They try to keep us on site, what with the giant monster attacks, so you will have roommates.”

“O-oh…” Prompto isn’t capable of feeling any more nervous. It’s the end of a long day. “Do you know who yet…?”

“You’ll be in my unit,” Mister Scientia answers, slipping on his coat and taking Prompto’s elbow as he leads them towards the elevators and the underground car park.

“ _Your unit…?_ ” Prompto fumbles. How is he ever going to relax?

“Indeed, so you’ll have to start calling me Ignis when we’re off site. I insist.”

“Is it just us?” Prompto hopes vainly.

“Just the four of us.” Mist—Ignis relays as they amble through the car park to a luxurious black convertible. The key clicks, the blinkers flash, and Ignis even holds the door open for Prompto.

At the hotel Prompto scrambles to throw his shit in a bag trying to hide the embarrassing shit like the comics and the handheld game system. He’s sure Ignis understands he’s sixteen but Prompto isn’t ready to feel vulnerable and normal yet. Ignis waits by the door of the shoebox room until Prompto announces he’s done whereupon Ignis inspects the room just to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything. He has. Ignis pulls his phone charger out of the wall and hands it too him on their way out. Prompto fumbles, apologises, but Ignis assures him its just fine.

They head back to the Citadel immediately. Then its all long walkways and security checkpoints as they move further and further into the palace. Ignis’ chatter is consistent and casual;

“Groceries are delivered every Thursday night. You can put whatever you want on the shopping list but I do make meals for everyone if you’d like to eat with us. Laundry is Sundays so please make sure you use your hamper. We can organise for the rest of your things to be shipped to you this week and we’ll enrol you in school tomorrow. Don’t want to skimp on your education, monsters or not.”

“Thank you,” Prompto manages breathlessly, hefting his bag over his shoulder and pulling his suitcase behind him.

The apartment is big and beautiful and pitch dark when they arrive. Ignis switches on the lights and leads Prompto to an empty guest room.

“Please make yourself at home,” he invites. “This is going to be your room from now on. Why don’t you get settled? I’m going to start on dinner. We’ll eat in a little while, alright?”

“Thanks Ignis,” Prompto replies awkwardly, “thanks for everything.”

Ignis nods and disappears and it only occurs to Prompto as he’s dumping his bags on the bed that Ignis told Commander Amicitia not to be late for dinner earlier today.

Shit.

Prompto stares down the barrel of life with his head scientist and the operations commander and wants to wet his pants. How is he going to cope? He’s just a nobody. These guys are professionals. They fight monsters. Prompto is sixteen and still gets pimples. He’s small and gangly and awkward and if they’re two of his roommates who’s the third? The president of Lucis?

Prompto swears but tries to manage his anxiety by chucking things in the drawers and unpacking some of his essentials. He toys with his phone. He knows he should call his parents but he’s not ready yet. Maybe they can last another day? He rests the cell against his forehead and jumps as he hears the front door open and close down the hall.

“Hey Iggy!” Commander Amicitia hollers.

Prompto swears to himself a little louder.

Ignis comes to fetch him a few moments later.

“Dinner’s ready Prompto, come along.”

Prompto trails two steps behind into the lounge. Sure enough there’s commander Amicitia slouched down at the kitchen table and at the head of the table, scrolling his phone, is a young man Prompto’s age with dark hair and an incredible pout.

“Evening Prompto,” Commander Amicitia greets, “meet Noctis.”

Prompto is going to wet his pants. Noctis Caelum is the pilot of Unit 1. Over the last two years he’s personally put down the vast majority of all Cityplauger attacks across Lucis. He’s a fucking legend. They keep his face out of the media, secrecy and stuff, but the dark web has all sorts of theories and candid snapshots and Prompto is nothing if not an absolute fanboy.

“H-Hi,” Prompto greets sheepishly. “It’s really great to meet you.”

Noctis grunts without looking up from his phone.

Ignis pulls it out of his fingers and tuts.

“Play nice,” he instructs.

“Hi,” Noctis deadpans, shooting Prompto an unwilling glance. “You’re the new pilot?”

“Yes, apparently,” Prompto can hardly believe it. It doesn’t feel real.

“Then just stay out of my way. You’ll live longer.” Noctis announces levelly.

“Easy Princess,” Commander Amicitia frowns, shoving Noctis’ shoulder. “You were green once too.”

“Maybe, and if he can make it past his first battle without winding up in a coffin or worse then we can be friends.” Noctis huffs. “Until then I’m decidedly not getting attached.”

Prompto remembers Unit 2 had another pilot briefly. He doesn’t remember all of the details but they left active duty after only two or three battles. No one’s ever given a formal reason as to why as far as Prompto knows but it occurs to him they might’ve actually died and he goes pale and cold almost instantly. Is he going to die…?

“Forgive Noctis,” Ignis entreats as he begins to serve up dinner. “He’s not incredibly adept at making new friends at the best of times.”

Noctis looks sour at that and slouches lower in his chair. Commander Amicitia grabs his scruff and pulls him back up without a word. Ignis presents his dinner and—

“This—” Noctis begins in a huff.

“ _Eat._ ” Ignis orders.

Noctis groans put picks up his cutlery.

Prompto didn’t imagine the greatest pilot in Lucis would be quite so sulky. Prompto’s always wanted to meet Noctis. He’s dreamt Noctis would like him but evidently they’re a long way off that alternate reality and that’s a little disheartening. Prompto might be able to console himself to dying graphically but it would be a nice consolation prize if his hero actually cared when he croaked.

Dinner, for what its worth, is absolutely delicious. Apparently Ignis is a very good cook. Prompto’s not sure how to make conversation and Noctis is unwilling to try, pushing his food around his plate, but Ignis and Commander Amicitia run through their days and discuss minor matters of politics and domestic life. They all seem very comfortable with each other. Prompto wonders if they’ve been living this way for a long while, just the three of them, and now here he is sticking his nose in the dog-pile.

“Alright,” Commander Amicitia sighs, “showers, homework, bed. Noctis you’re helping Ignis with dishes tonight so Prompto you can have first shower if you like.”

“Thanks Sir,” Prompto waits while Ignis starts collecting the plates.

“Don’t use all the hot water,” Noctis orders as he slinks up and stalks into the kitchen.

“For the record,” Commander Amicitia stretches, “at home I’m Gladio. Keep all the sir stuff for when we’re on missions. You’ve gotta relax at home or you’ll go crazy.”

“Y-yeah, right,” Prompto shuffles up awkwardly.

“You called your parents yet?” Gladio scratches at his stubble lazily.

“No,” Prompto admits. “I’m not sure what to say.”

“Start with the truth, improvise from there,” Gladio suggests. “Just don’t leave it too long.”

Prompto leaves his parents a voicemail after his shower. They’re helping refugees beyond the walls of Insomnia and they don’t have very good reception at the best of times. Not that they tend to answer his calls when they are home…

* * *

In the morning Prompto is awoken by Ignis and presented with a school uniform. Its for a fancy private school. Prompto’s not sure who is paying his tuition in this scenario but he’s not going to complain. At the front door Gladio is fixing Noctis tie matter-of-factly.

“Prompto,” Gladio grunts without looking up, “you’re going to have security. Nyx Ulric runs your shadow unit. His job is to make sure no one kidnaps you or Noct. Do what he says and don’t go anywhere without him. Noctis will introduce you.”

“Noctis doesn’t see the point,” Noctis deadpans, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Lunches,” Ignis calls, appearing with three perfectly packed meals. Gladio and Noctis take theirs without much ceremony but Prompto makes sure to thank Ignis. His mom never made lunches for him back home…

Prompto follows Noctis out of the Citadel to another black car parked in the central courtyard. He feels rushed and uncertain but he does his best to keep up with Noctis. At the car two big men in black open the back passenger door. Noctis gets in without so much as a word leaving the big man with the braids to scoff.

“You must be the new kid,” he supposes. “Name’s Nyx, this is Libertus, what’re we calling you?”

“Prompto,” he greets, shaking their hands. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Same kid,” Nyx nods, “now get in the car. Don’t wanna make you late for school. Kristine in admin will have my fucking head if you’re late. Woman’s a witch.”

The school is huge and everyone is in fancy uniforms. Prompto is immediately lost three feet within the gate. He went to a little public school back home. He knew everyone from grade school and they all knew him from his chunky pre-adolescent phase before he took up running. It was embarrassing, trying to escape the shadow of those earlier years, but now he’s somewhere new and as he trails behind Noctis he notices he’s drawing quite a bit of attention.

“Show me your schedule,” Noctis orders, sticking his hand out.

Prompto scrambles but surrenders the sheet.

“Ugh, Ignis put you with me for like everything.” Noctis sighs. “Alright, first period, follow me and try not to cause a scene.”

Prompto feels helpless. Until he knows his way around he’s pretty reliant on Noctis to lead the way. Ignis, absolute saint, has stuffed his bag with books and basic equipment. Ignis seems to think of everything and Prompto feels relieved at least someone’s looking out for him. Noctis directs him to a free seat in the back and quickly whips out his phone to start scrolling.

Prompto wants to talk to Noctis. He wants to ask a million questions. He’s just working up the courage to open his mouth when a gaggle of other boys come stumbling over.

“Hey,” they greet reverently, “are you a pilot?”

“Um—Well, I guess?” Prompto shrugs.

“Figures, you came to school with Caelum,” they nod to each other solemnly.

They start asking a million questions. What’s the cockpit like? How’d he get chosen? Prompto isn’t sure what he’s allowed to say and they’re all talking at once. Noctis, completely unhelpful, continues to play on his phone for a moment before—

“Lay off,” he grunts. “You want specifics go online.”

“Oh come on,” one of the boys fusses, “you can’t blame us for being interested. It’s cool. Sure, maybe you won’t talk to anyone but—”

“He doesn’t have to answer your dumb questions.” Noctis maintains. “This is high school not a televised interview. Go sit down.”

The boys fluster and fuss but dissipate without much more prompting. Noctis, small and wiry, seems to have plenty of sway. Prompto’s sure its something to do with his certainty. Noctis might be small but he’s so sure of every motion, so committed, so assured that its hard not to bend when he puts his foot down.

“Thanks,” Prompto murmurs, “I wasn’t sure what to say.”

“Fucking fanboys,” Noctis sighs without looking up from his phone. “Can’t stand all that noise.”

Prompto feels a little embarrassed by default. He is a fanboy. He’s followed Noctis’ exploits for two years. He’s always thought the robots and the monsters are cool. Flushing he ducks his head and tries to play coy.

At least the rest of the day passes without incident. He and Noctis don’t really talk but Prompto stays close anyway. He’s shy by nature, that’s his excuse, but he’s not sure what Noctis’ excuse is for not seeming to have a single friend. He always expected Noctis would have people hanging off him, whole scores of buddies and playmates, but Noctis gives one cold look and his peers scamper like frightened animals. Okay, so he’s a little prickly, maybe that makes sense? Still…

The classes are way ahead of Prompto’s current skill level and he’s starting mid semester so he’s missed all sorts of things and introductory lessons. He claws his way through the lessons, just trying not to make a mess, and the teachers are lenient for now which helps. That said Prompto senses he better catch up pretty quick or else.

In the afternoon Nyx and Libertus are at the gates to pick them up. Nyx takes their hulking backpacks and throws them in the trunk and Libertus even asks Prompto how his first day was.

“I’m way behind,” Prompto admits.

“You’ll catch up,” Libertus assures. “Teachers are supposed to help you. Do a few extra sessions and they’ll get you up to speed.”

“Were you a good student?” Prompto asks as he sinks into the plush backseat and pulls on his seat belt.

“I flunked like every class I was every in,” Libertus snorts, “but you’re a smart kid, right? Gotta be to be a pilot. You’ll be fine.”

“Besides,” Nyx takes the wheel, “you’ve already got a job so….”

“For now,” Noctis hums from his cellphone.

“Cold little buddy,” Nyx tuts.

“Pilots come and go,” Noctis maintains, “and he’s never seen real combat.”

“I’ll be fine,” Prompto huffs, getting a little sick of this routine. “You’ll see.”

Noctis snorts but doesn’t argue.

Prompto is probably all talk. He hasn’t ever been in a real fight. Not even a fist fight. How is he going to face up against a demon the size of a building? Still he tries to stand up for himself. Whatever is in Noctis’ head, whatever makes him so standoffish, Prompto will push past it.

“You want us to take you to the hospital for a little while, Noct?” Nyx asks as they pull away from the curb.

Noctis freezes.

“N-not today,” he fumbles, sticking his head back down.

“You sure?” Nyx presses. “The flowers will need to be replaced by now.”

Prompto wants to ask who’s in the hospital but as the tension in the car creeps into an unbearable, nearly physical, aura he struggles to keep his mouth shut. Noctis glances out the window, bites his lip, and the adults let him simmer for a painfully long moment.

“Can we drop the dork off first?” Noctis gestures curtly to Prompto.

“You don’t want Prompto to pay his respects?”

“No.” Noctis answers decisively. “I wanna be alone.”

“Fair enough, kiddo,” Nyx permits. “Prompto we’ll swing you round to the Citadel first.”

“Um thanks…” Prompto murmurs, glance bouncing between Nyx and Noctis. 

* * *

The rest of the week passes without incident. Prompto starts getting a sense of the routine slowly but surely. He even gets more comfortable maneuvering around the Citadel. Still he suspects it’ll be a while before he truly finds his feet. His parents call and the conversation is stilted and uncomfortable. They promise to have more of Prompto’s things shipped to Insomnia and maybe Prompto’s going crazy but he can’t shake the feeling they sound relieved to be without him. Needless to say they’re not excited about his new position in the capital.

Prompto isn’t sure what Saturday is going to bring. He can’t imagine his roommates take much down time but he supposes he should be grateful for the opportunity to catch up on some school work. Even if he spends Saturday alone it won’t be any different from a weekend back home.

He’s looking forward to sleeping in until Gladio barges into his room at seven thirty Saturday morning and tosses work out gear onto his bed.

“Huh?” Prompto startles, groggy and scatterbrained.

“Practice time, Prompto,” Gladio announces. “Get dressed.”

Prompto is too frazzled to argue and slips into the work out gear. In the apartment proper Noctis is dressed but dozing with his head on the kitchen table buried in his arms. Ignis presents Prompto with a towel and a water bottle.

“Regular training regimens are part of the program.” Ignis explains. “We’ll up the regularity of them but we wanted to give you a few days to settle. Gladio’s going to take you, this is his area, then when you get back you can shower and we’ll have breakfast.”

The promise of Ignis’ cooking is enough to soften the blow so Prompto nods dumbly and takes the water bottle. He supposes it makes sense they have to train but Noctis looks absolutely dead on arrival.

“I’ll let you pick Prompto,” Gladio announces, tying up his hair. “We can go do a few laps at the pool or through the garden.”

“Running, definitely running.” Prompto decides without hesitation. Prompto’s a regular jogger and he’s been itching for a good run. Gladio looks enthused but Noctis moans into the kitchen table.

For a second Prompto thinks maybe he can show off, prove to Noctis he’s capable in some way or another, but regular jogging doesn’t hold a candle to the kind of endurance test Gladio subjects them to. Noctis is sweating up a storm, huffing and puffing, but Prompto is sure if there was anything left in his stomach from last night he would’ve hurled it across the flower beds. Gladio runs with them, somewhere between teasing and encouraging, and Noctis is all sass for the first twenty minutes before devolving.

“Come on Princess, keep moving. You can sleep when you’re dead.”

“Fuck you,” Noctis pants, complying and resisting all at once. Gladio just laughs in the face of the attitude, apparently he’s used to this, and honestly it’s the most vocal Prompto’s heard Noctis be all week.

“Okay, twenty push ups,” Gladio invites them to drop. “Then I’ll take you back.”

“Fuck you.” It seems to be Noctis default response right now, all he’s capable of formulating to express himself, and if Prompto had any breath left in his lungs he might agree.

Prompto’s legs are screaming and its very tempting just to faceplant in the grass.

“You’re doing good Prompto,” Gladio assures, “you can do a few more. Come on. Don’t quit now. You’re almost there.”

“Fuck you,” Prompto moans.

Gladio laughs.

“Alright, time.” Their torturer announces a moment later.

Noctis actually does faceplant in the grass, absolutely collapsing.

“You thought I’d go easy on you just cause we’ve got new meat.” Gladio tuts, handing him his water bottle. “You should know better, Noct.”

Noctis grumbles into the grass but snatches his water bottle.

“Please tell me this is it for today?” Prompto whimpers as Gladio hands him his drink.

“Not quite little buddy,” Gladio admits. “Shower, breakfast, then you’ve got some very chill sync drills with Ignis downstairs and then we’ll do some basic weapons training after lunch and then you can rest. Should be done around four, you’ll have all night to relax, promise.”

Prompto whines.

“It only gets worse.” Noctis warns in the same embittered tone.

“We’ll watch a movie tonight,” Gladio soothes, “if you’re lucky Ignis will even let me order us some dinner from downtown.”

“Pizza.” Noctis demands.

“We’ll put it to a vote.” Gladio snorts.

“Ugh,” Noctis slumps back down.

“Up you get,” Gladio stirs them both, gripping the backs of their shirts and hefting them up. “Showers, breakfast. You’ll feel better.”

* * *

Everything hurts even after the shower.

Ignis makes a full breakfast and he’s taking requests when Prompto hits the kitchen seat. Noctis is eating his pancakes like his life depends on it and Prompto doesn’t understand the appeal till the first mouthful hits his stomach and ravenous hunger sets in. Prompto feels a little better after stuffing his face, he will admit, but he just wants to curl up.

Still, no rest for the wicked.

Ignis takes them down the elevator into the underground where the mechs are kept. Even today staff are milling around. Prompto struggles into his plug suit, full and sore, and he’s still tightening his straps when Noctis brushes past in his plug suit. Noctis suit is black, blue and purple, like Unit 1. It looks really good on him. He looks like Prompto imagined him, all cool and slick, but he can read the disinterest in Noctis’ face now.

“You ever get used to it?” Prompto asks, wriggling his toes in the boot pieces trying to get comfortable.

“Sort of,” Noctis shrugs. “Routine can be nice but it’s always a little surreal.”

“Huh…” Prompto sighs. He wasn’t expecting much of answer, let alone a nice one, so he just nods and tries not to push his luck.

Ignis gets them both in their entry plugs and settling down in his Unit 2—Wow, Prompto lurches, his Unit 2? That’s definitely surreal—whatever. Prompto tries to adjust to that funny phantom limb feeling all over again.

“Alright, Prompto we’re going to run a sync drill. It’s just practice. I’m basically going to leave you alone for the next thirty minutes. I want you to meditate, try and sink into whatever you’re feeling, and if you want to move Unit 2 at all within the cage feel free. We’ll be recording your levels. I’ll let you know if anything major changes.”

“Okay,” Prompto takes a deep breath.

“Noctis,” Ignis tuts, “no falling asleep, you understand?”

“I held like fifty-two percent when I was dreaming the other day, you said so,” Noctis huffs. “I can do this. I don’t need to practice.”

“Everyone needs to practice. You need to maintain your relationship with Unit 1. Don’t be petulant.” Ignis instructs levelly. Serious voice in full effect. He softens only slightly to suggest; “just try and beat your record. You almost got back up to eighty-four at idle last week.”

“I got ninety-seven last battle.” Noctis chides.

“Point remains,” Ignis sighs.

Prompto swallows. He only got up to forty-five last time and Noctis can beat that unconscious.

Prompto closes his eyes and tries to drive out all distraction. It’s just him and Unit 2. He can do this. He tries to give himself over into the feeling. He focuses on the warmth of the entry plug and tries to tune out his limbs to focus on the phantom limbs of the mech he can feel niggling at the edge of his consciousness. It takes a few moments, peeling back distractions, trying to narrow down his focus but he practices making finger motions with the fingers and starts to feel thoroughly embedded.

“You’re doing great, Prompto,” Ignis chimes in very gently, trying not to disturb his focus. “Fifty-two.”

Prompto takes a deep breath. That’s fifty-two? Six, what does eighty-four feel like and how can Noctis stand it? This in itself is hard. 

“Noctis has had much more practice, he’s been doing this much longer,” Ignis’s soothing voice comes across the radio. “Try not to fret. It puts noise in the filter.”

“Sorry,” Prompto murmurs, trying to refocus.

“That’s better.” Ignis assures. “Fifty-three. Keep it up, Prompto.”

There’s another moment of perfect silence, just the thrumming of the machine, somewhere between a heartbeat and breathing.

“Noctis, you still with us?”

“Ahuh,” Noctis grunts.

“You’re dropping a little, is everything alright?”

“Where am I?” Noctis asks, avoiding the question.

“You were at seventy-two but you’re dropping.” Ignis informs. “Remember, nothing else matters right now. Just breathe.”

“I know what I’m doing.” Noctis grumbles.

“Then why are you still dropping?” Ignis pushes. “Sixty.”

“I’m fine.” Noctis maintains.

“Fifty-nine. Talk to me.”

“I don’t have anything to say.”

“You’ve got something to say. Fifty-eight.”

“I’m fine.” Noctis does not sound fine.

“Fifty-seven.”

“Oh fuck you,” Noctis snaps all of a sudden.

Prompto startles.

“Noctis—”

“I’m ejecting.” Noctis announces.

“Another eight minutes.”

“No.” Noctis huffs. “I’m getting out _now_. Fuck you.” 

Prompto tilts his head watching Noctis release the entry plug from Unit 2. Ignis makes a noise over the radio, seeming to catch a second too late he’s still audible to Prompto and grunts—

“Glaive Holmes take over. Prompto finish your session.”

And then Ignis is gone.

Prompto swallows, trying to refocus, but he’s too distracted. He watches Noctis force his way out of the entry plug across the gangway, umbilical fluid gushing only half drained out across the walkway, and run away towards the change rooms.

Prompto barely manages to make the last eight minutes. His results drop to a measly twenty-six and though Glaive Holmes chides him Prompto just can’t tear his mind away from Noctis. What was that? Is he okay?

Eventually Prompto is released from the entry plug and shuffled towards the changing rooms.

He doesn’t realise he’s walked into something until its too late.

Noctis is around the corner, in the other line of lockers, and he sounds like he’s crying.

“I know it’s hard,” Ignis whispers, “I know, but you can’t blame yourself.”

“But it’s _my fault_.” Noctis hiccups. 

“No, it’s not.” Ignis insists sternly. “It’s absolutely not. Noct, listen—”

Prompto backs out of the change room, quiet as a field mouse, and waits in the hallway. He’s not sure how long he stands there, waiting, but what feels like much later Ignis sticks his head out of the change room.

“Come on, Prompto,” he forces a grim smile. “Let’s get you changed.”

“Sorry,” Prompto whispers, lingering in the hallway. “Did I--?”

“You didn’t do anything,” Ignis promises. “It’s okay. Come on.”

Taking a deep breath Prompto follows him back inside.

Noctis is only half changed, pausing every so often to wipe at his eyes or nose. His face is red and puffy. He doesn’t look good and Prompto just wants to disappear because he feels like he’s done something wrong, like his entire existence is upsetting Noctis somehow, and he hates it.

Prompto changes as quickly as he can but his fingers are shaking.

Ignis waits near the door, back turned to them, giving them some semblance of privacy but pointedly refusing to move away.

“It’s been a rough morning,” Ignis consoles them both when they present themselves to him fully dress and sheepish. “Let’s have some lunch. The afternoon will be easier.”

“You promise?” Noctis snorts, half joking half not.

* * *

Lunch is very quiet. Gladio and Ignis spend most of it exchanging meaningful looks but, like Noctis, Prompto just tries to keep his head down and eat his sandwiches. Eventually the plates are cleared and Ignis is putting away the condiments in the kitchen when Gladio clears his throat;

“Noct, why don’t I just get Prompto set up today?”

“I need to practice,” Noctis insists, cheek in hand looking absolutely miserable.

“Noct—”

“I wanna come.” Noctis promises forcing himself to make eye contact with Gladio.

Gladio sighs.

“Alright,” he relents. “Let’s get you guys practising.” 

Gladio takes them to an indoor training arena and changed back into his workout gear Prompto’s not sure he can take enough endurance test. He feels too shaky and confused. Noctis stretches across the padded floor, extending his arms, and Prompto tries not to stare at him.

Gladio punches a security code into the far wall and ballistic shields retract revealing a line of weapons the likes of which Prompto already half recognises.

“Prompto,” Gladio begins, “we don’t always have the luxury of time or space so its not always practical for you to practice using Unit 2’s weapons in Unit 2. These are exact, small scale, replicas of what we call—”

“The Royal Arms,” Prompto nods, a little awed.

“Exactly,” Gladio grins softly. “We practice with these because it gives you a really good idea of how to move with them, the weight distribution, the foot work, all that. If you can fight with them then you’ll be okay when you get in Unit 2 and we give you the real thing. Make sense?”

Prompto nods.

“We’ll start you with the Sword of the Wise.” Gladio explains, fishing it off the wall delicately. “Noct you practice your drills, okay? Sing out if you need. No sparring today.”

“Okay,” Noctis nods, shifting to the opposing end of the wall to select a weapon.

Prompto takes the Sword of the Wise with trepidation. It’s not unwieldy but it is a proper sword. Prompto taps—

“It’s sharp!” He flinches, sticking his finger in his mouth.

“Gotta be,” Gladio remarks, “no dulled weapons out there in the real world. You ever done any sword work, school clubs or anything?”

“No way,” Prompto admits.

“We’ll start basic then.” Gladio promises.

Gladio spends most of the session wrapped around Prompto, showing him how to grip the handle and where to put his weight when he swings. The blade is perfectly balanced Gladio insists but Prompto’s only half sure what that means and it doesn’t help him.

Eventually they switch over to training staffs, fake swords, and Gladio starts teaching him the foundations of sparring.

“You’ve got to know this shit,” Gladio insists, “but most of the time you’re going to be fighting giant fucking demons. They won’t have swords. They’ll want to maul you. Still the concepts of going for the unprotected turf, exploiting movement patterns, that stays the same. It’s a transferable skill. What matters is getting you confident with the blades.”

“Can’t I just have a mace?” Prompto jokes.

“Hitting something with a big fuck-off bat is one way to fight,” Gladio chuckles, “but this will teach you more important skills. We’ll try the mace later.”

Gladio spends the next hour or so smacking Prompto off his feet.

It’s sore work and Prompto’s muscles ache but he does sense some tentative improvement since the beginning of the session.

Eventually Gladio eases off and puts the training swords away.

“Okay guys, stretch down,” he instructs, taking another replica out of Noctis’ hand and shutting them away in the case.

* * *

As promised there are movies and pizza at the apartment that afternoon. Ignis pulls blankets out of the hall cupboard and practically tucks them all in on the couch before turning on a generic action flick and letting them settle. Prompto feels so tired, physically and emotionally, that its not very late at all when Ignis encourages him to crash for the night.

Prompto sleeps for an hour, maybe three, and when he wakes the apartment is silent.

Ignis, Gladio and Noctis have all gone to bed by now but rolling onto his back Prompto finds he has trouble drifting back to sleep.

Something feels wrong.

Unfurling the blankets Prompto slips out of bed and creeps down the hallway.

He’s never been in Noctis’ room but even in the dark he can tell it has way more personality than this current set up. Comics, posters, funky clothes… It’s more lived in than messy but that’s beside the point.

Prompto doesn’t expect he can sneak up on Noctis but he still taps him on the shoulder very gently when he sits on the edge of the bed.

Noctis grunts with his back to Prompto. He sounds groggy but he’s awake.

“I’m sorry if I’ve done something wrong,” Prompto whispers, pulling his hand away.

“You haven’t done anything,” Noctis sighs without rolling over.

“I still feel like I’m upsetting you somehow…”

“It’s a—” Noctis curls a little tighter. “It’s hard to explain. You seem nice, Prompto, I’m sorry. This is just hard.”

“I don’t think they’ll ever replace you,” Prompto tries to reassure, stabbing in the dark. “You’re way better at all this than I am even if you don’t feel great right now.”

“It’s not that,” Noctis tries to explain. “I used to want a team. It’s just…”

“Just…?” Prompto tries to push him, very gently. He wants to understand.

“I’ll show you, tomorrow, promise.” Noctis whispers. “It’ll be easier to show you.”

“Okay,” Prompto relents. “Tomorrow then.”

Prompto can barely sleep after that. All the worst ideas play around in his head. He tosses and turns and wakes up looking like a raccoon. What doesn’t he know? Did the last pilot of Unit 2 betray the Kingsglaive or something? Did they end up beheaded in a ditch? Is Noctis going to show him the body? Prompto has no idea and he feels dreadful just thinking about it.

No one comes to wake him up Sunday morning. He’s allowed to delicately shuffle out of bed when he’s ready. He can hear the morning news, smell Ignis’ cooking, and when he tumbles out into the lounge Gladio is reading the paper with both feet crossed on the coffee table. Noctis is slouched into his side, slumped and looking equally drained, but he glances over Prompto cautiously upon arrival and Prompto tries to force a smile.

“Everyone up?” Ignis calls. “Did I hear Prompto?”

“Morning Iggy,” Prompto slinks into the kitchen by way of answer.

“Good morning, Prompto,” Ignis glances over his shoulder. “Sleep well?”

“Not really,” Prompto admits. “You?”

“I’ve had better nights,” Ignis shrugs, “but all will be well. What’s your plan for today?”

“I think Noctis wanted to hang out for a little while,” Prompto murmurs uncertainly as he takes a seat at the kitchen table.

“Really?” Ignis pauses audibly. “That’s good. There’s an arcade nearby. Nyx and Libertus will have to be called in if you’re going off site however.”

“Not sure what Noctis had planned,” Prompto admits. “But I’ll keep that in mind.”

After breakfast Noctis beckons Prompto towards the front door and starts slipping on his shoes. Prompto follows suit listening quietly as Noctis whips out his phone and calls Nyx. At least they are taking an escort. Not much bad can happen if they have an escort.

Prompto at once wants to ask where they’re going but is too terrified with possibilities to open his mouth.

Its not until he’s in the car, driving out of the Citadel with Nyx, Noctis and Libertus, that someone finally asks the question.

“So where to?” Nyx pipes up.

“Florist. Hospital.” Noctis answers stiffly.

Prompto’s stomach drops through his feet.

 _Oh_ …

* * *

Noctis is on good terms with the florist and he knows his way around the hospital really well. Prompto feels sicker with every step. He’s beginning to suspect the root cause of the problem but he’s not sure he wants to see his theory confirmed.

Noctis leads them to a private room in the ICU.

A nurse greets him with some familiarity, already removing the old flowers so Noctis can set up the news ones, and Noctis, taking a deep breath, turns to Prompto.

“Prompto, meet Luna.”

Luna looks absolutely tiny on the bed all plugged up with machines and IVs. She’s pale and blonde and probably very beautiful when she’s feeling better.

Prompto sags.

“Hi Luna,” he whispers.

“She was Unit 2’s pilot before you.” Noctis explains. “She’s from a Kingsglaive family in Tenebrae. She’s really nice. I was super excited when we met. She fought with me for three battles, she did really well, but her Unit got mauled during her forth combat mission.”

Prompto just listens.

“Most of her injuries have healed now. They put her in a medically induced coma when she came in because she was in so much pain. They’ve tried to wake her up a few times since but…” Noctis struggles to form the right words.

He doesn’t need to. Prompto gets it.

“You must be really sad,” Prompto manages stupidly.

“She’s really nice,” Noctis repeats brokenly. “I thought we’d be fighting together for a lot longer.”

“What happened…?” Prompto rubs at his arms.

“We were fighting this Cityplauger. I got tossed, knocked out, it was stupid. I lost my footing like an idiot. Luna got tackled. It just started going to town on her. I’m surprised they were able to rebuild Unit 2.” Noctis seems to stop but something else bubbles out of him unbidden. “With the nerve connections you feel it when something happens to your Unit. It hurts. It would’ve been like they were mauling Luna herself.”

Prompto doesn’t know what to say. Everything hurts. His gut is twisting and the words all just sound stupid in his head.

“I think…” Noctis shrugs weakly, reaching to touch Luna’s tiny knuckles with his fingertips. “I just don’t want it to happen again. I don’t want to care so much. I can barely stand this.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Prompto murmurs. He knows its not his place but he just has to say it. Noctis looks so sad. He’s looked sad since they met, Prompto realises; that’s the unnamable emotion that’s been eating at him like a cancer.

“It feels like it was,” Noctis admits. “If I was out there alone—”

“Then lots more people would be sad or dead or worse.” Prompto counters.

“What’s the point of having all this training if I can’t even keep my teammates safe?”

“You messed up one time,” Prompto finds himself moving around the bed, “you shouldn’t kill yourself over one mistake.”

“I guess…”

“Luna wouldn’t want you to be this sad, would she…?”

“Heh…” Noctis slips fingers around Luna’s and rubs at his face weakly. “Probably not. She’d just be glad I got out okay.”

“Then you should be glad too,” Prompto tries, fishing up Noctis’ free hand and squeezing it tight in both of his. “It’s not good what happened but you can keep helping people and it sounds like that would make Luna happy.”

“I… yeah….” Noctis murmurs weakly, shoulders falling, fingers flexing a little around Prompto’s. “I’m sorry I’ve been so mean to you…” He whispers.

“I get it,” Prompto promises. Noctis has been _scared_. Everyone does crazy things when they’re scared. “Let’s just bury the hatchet, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Noctis nods softly, glancing to him with some trepidation. “Friends…?”

“Friends,” Prompto smiles, squeezing his hand.


End file.
